


From Eggnog to Mistletoe

by sixxstiel



Series: Divine Intervention: On Holiday [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Christmas, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humans, M/M, bartender!Dean, homeless!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:46:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9038087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixxstiel/pseuds/sixxstiel
Summary: Dean’s working the club’s closing shift on Christmas Eve, cheerlessly thinking about the lonely night ahead, when the strangest homeless guy in town walks in to escape the cold.
Dean offers him a drink.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Dean’s a bartender at a jazz club. It’s near closing time on Christmas Eve. Cas, a homeless man, comes in to escape the cold. Dean offers to buy him a drink.
> 
> Prompted and beta’d by [oceanbluecas](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanbluecas/pseuds/oceanbluecas)

   
Dean sighed as he wiped down the counter for the eighth time in the last fifteen minutes. He was thankful he only had another hour and a half before the club closed. It was late Christmas Eve and unfortunately, the first Christmas he’d spend away from his little brother, Sam. He'd been stuck watching friends, family, and lovers greet each other with exuberant hugs and kisses for the last several hours and he couldn't wait for the torture to be over. The slow blues filtering through the speakers from the disc he was forced to play (because no band would perform on Christmas Eve) wasn't enough to drown out the high pitched squeals and loud screams of _Merry Christmas_ coursing through the club.  
   
Dean had never been away from Sam for any holiday, but this year money was tight and Sam couldn't afford to fly in for the holidays. And, well, Dean was doing alright, but he couldn't afford to take unpaid time off to go see his brother in California, let alone pay to fly Sam home to Lawrence, Kansas.  
   
_I guess I’ll be spending Christmas on the couch, wrapped up in blankets watching_ It’s a Wonderful Life _with a bottle of Jack alone this year._  
   
“Hey, you alright?” he heard Charlie, a club regular and his best friend, ask him.  
   
“Yeah, just thinking about my Christmas plans,” he replied, with a  smile.  
   
“Got a hot date?” she teased.  
   
He shook his head.  
   
“That’s right,” she corrected herself, “your brother always comes in for Christmas.”  
   
“Nah, he couldn’t make it this year. It's just gonna be me and Jack curled up on the couch.”  
   
“Jack?” Kevin, another regular, repeated. “I didn't know you got a dog.”  
   
Dean chuckled, “I didn’t.”  
   
“You got a boyfriend and didn't tell me,” Charlie asked, shocked.  
   
“No.”  
   
“Then who the hell is Jack?”  
   
“Jack Daniels.”  
   
She stared at him, dumbstruck. “Who?”  
   
He snorted, “Whiskey. I'm gonna be on the couch with _whiskey_ , Charlie.”  
   
Charlie tilted her head. “Oh,” she said in a soft voice, pausing for a moment before adding, “You're more than welcome to come over and celebrate with Dorothy and I.”  
   
“Thanks, but I'd rather just stay home and watch the crappy holiday movies on tv,” he smiled. “But really. Thank you.”  
   
She nodded and they talked of other things for the rest of the evening. Because it was Christmas Eve, closing time was 11pm. The owner wanted the club closed to avoid having to pay double time for the holiday. At 10:30, Dean announced last call.  
   
Fifteen minutes later, he waved goodnight to Charlie and Kevin, who were always the last ones to leave, as they made use of the exit. The club was quiet for a moment as he wiped down the bar again, but the silence was broken as the door jangled an arrival. Dean picked up the cash they'd left on the bar to cover their drinks—tip included—and looked up to see Castiel, the most well known homeless man in town, his notoriety due to always being—strangely enough—well dressed.   
   
Wearing dark blue dress slacks, a dingy white dress shirt, a dark blue overcoat, and black loafers, the man could be on his way to church. His clothes were worn but obviously cared for. Even with the freezing winter temperatures, his tan trench coat showed little wear.  
   
Castiel (or “Cas”, as Dean had begun calling him in his mind) was two inches shorter than Dean’s 6’1”. They were both muscular, though Castiel clearly had lost quite a bit of tone and definition during his months—maybe years—of living on the street.  
   
That was where their similarities ended. Dean’s hair was close-cut and sand colored, his eyes green as Christmas trees, and his skin was pale due to spending way too much time indoors. In contrast, Castiel was tan from near constant sun exposure, his hair was dirty, messy, and dark, and his eyes—they were a startling ice blue. The two of them were as different as the sun and moon.  
   
Dean turned to the cash register to put the twenty dollar bill left by his friends into it’s slot and retrieve the change as his tip. As he closed the cash drawer, he heard the man’s deep voice speak up behind him.  
   
“Excuse me?”  
   
Even though he had expected Cas to speak, Dean jumped slightly and dropped the money he had pulled from the cash drawer onto the floor. He blushed furiously, hoping the man hadn't noticed how startled Dean had been. Dean stooped to pick up the ten and two singles he'd dropped. Once he had it in hand, he straightened and turned back to face the man.  
   
“Yes?” his voice cracked. _Well, shit, there go my cool points._  
   
“How late are you open?”  
   
“Umm, I'm actually just getting ready to close up.” Dean shrugged, “For the holiday, ya know?”  
   
Cas frowned and paled. “That's today?”  
   
Dean nodded.  
   
Castiel replaced his frown with a small smile. “Alright, thank you,” he said, turning to leave.  
   
“Wait,” Dean called after a moment’s pause.  
   
Castiel stopped but didn't turn to face Dean.  
   
Having no idea why he stopped the man from leaving, Dean said the first thing that came to his mind: “Why are you here?”  
   
Castiel faced him and shrugged. “It’s cold out. Since I thought the club was going to be open it's normal hours, I figured I could come in and be warm for a while.”  
   
Biting the inside of his lip, Dean asked, “Where will you go now?”  
   
Sadness came over the man's features. “I've nowhere to go. . .”  
   
Dean glanced around the club. Taking in the empty room, he suggested, “Let me buy you a drink.” When Castiel hesitated, he reasoned, “It'll keep you out of the cold for a few minutes. . .”  
   
“Alright,” he finally agreed, adding a stipulation, “But nothing alcoholic.”  
   
“This is a nightclub, I don't know that we have anything non-alcoholic.”  
   
Castiel smiled. “Surely you have water or soda.”  
   
“I'm sure we do, but. . .it's cold out. A whiskey or bourbon would be better; it'd keep the cold at bay for a little while.”  
   
“What about eggnog?”  
   
Dean flinched in surprise. “Why would we have—”  
   
“Well,” Castiel interrupted, “it is the holidays.”  
   
“Oh,” Dean replied, “yeah. Hm, maybe we have some in the back.” He turned to go look, but stopped. “I should lock the door first though—I don't want anyone coming in since I'm supposed to be closed now.” He headed over to do so. “Okay, now I'm gonna go check for that eggnog.” Cas nodded and Dean disappeared for a few minutes.  
   
“Alright,” he admitted upon returning, “We do have some.” He pulled out two glasses and filled them halfway. Dean handed one to Cas, who had taken a seat at the bar.  
   
“Thank you,” Cas said, squinting to  read Dean's name tag, “Dean.” He held his hand out for Dean to grasp, stating when he did, “I’m Castiel.”  
   
“I know who you are.”  
   
“You do?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
Both men sat in silence for a minute before Dean finally asked, “Are you from around here?”  
   
“No.”  
   
Dean waited to see if Cas expanded on his answer, and when he didn’t, Dean prompted, “Alright, where are you from?”  
   
“All over.”  
   
“Okay.”  
   
“Are you?”   
   
Dean cocked his head in question.   
   
“From around here?” Cas clarified.  
   
“Oh, yeah. Sammy and I grew up here.”  
   
“Who's that? Your sister?”  
   
Dean grinned. “No. Sam is my little brother.”  
   
“So you've lived here all your life?”  
   
“No.”  
   
Cas frowned in confusion, “But you grew up here—”  
   
“Yep, but when Sammy—Sam—graduated, he got a scholarship to Stanford.”  
   
“Wow!”  
   
“Yeah, Sam is super smart. He graduated in the top two percent of his class,” Dean sighed, remembering how Sam almost hadn't went to college.  
   
“What's he going for?”  
   
“A law degree,” Dean answered, distracted by old memories.  
   
Cas was silent, waiting for Dean to share what he clearly had on his mind.  
   
“He almost didn't go,” Dean went on a moment later.  
   
“Why?”  
   
Dean sighed before explaining. “When Sam was finishing up his junior year, our mom got sick. Sam decided he would go straight to work for our uncle Bobby so he could be here with her. I told him he'd resent mom if he didn't go to college so he decided he would, but he was choosing one close to home. When he told us he was gonna pick a state school that was close to home, Mom told him that if he really wanted to become a lawyer, he should apply to _every_ college that had a good law program. At the beginning of his senior year, he applied to Stanford.” Dean grinned proudly. “And he got in. Mom was so proud of him.” Dean’s smile disappeared just as quickly as it had come. “But a few months after he got there, Sam discovered he couldn't make it on his own. He needed help; the cost of living was too high and working part-time at the campus bookstore wasn't cutting it.”  
   
“He didn't quit, did he?”  
   
Dean shook his head. “No, he wanted to but Mom begged him not to. And, since she was doing a lot better, he didn't.”  
   
“What happened?”  
   
“Mom sat me down and she asked me what she said was the hardest question to ask of her oldest kid, but she wanted to make sure Sam was able to achieve his dreams—””  
   
When Dean didn't continue, Cas asked, “What did she ask you to do?”  
   
“She asked me to move to California and help Sam so he could get his degree completed.”  
   
Cas surprised Dean with sudden angry undertone in his voice. “But what about _your_ dreams?”  
   
Dean shrugged. “I didn't really have any—hell, I didn’t even have plans. I had no intentions of getting a degree; I didn't care what I did as long as I had money to pay my bills.”  
   
“But,” Cas sighed, “why would she ask you to leave if she was sick?”  
   
“She was doing better, and dad was still there to help her.” Dean shrugged. “So I did as Mom wanted.” To Dean’s embarrassment, a tear slipped down his cheek as he muttered, “I never should have went.”  
   
Cas covered Dean's hand with his. “Dean, you don't have to tell me anymore if you don't—”  
   
If Dean were asked _why_ he was willing to tell this stranger his life story, he wouldn't be able to explain it. He just knew he wanted Cas to know. Dean wiped the tear away with his free hand. “I want to.” Cas nodded and Dean continued with his tale. “I quit my job—I was working at our uncle Bobby's shop—packed up all my stuff, and drove to Stanford. I called Sam when I was three hours from the campus and told him when I'd be there.”  
   
“Was he mad that you just showed up?”  
   
“What?” Dean was startled at the question.  
   
“Was Sam mad that you just came out here?” Cas repeated.  
   
“Oh, no. We had already talked about it—he knew to expect me, just not when.”  
   
“Oh, well that's good.”  
   
Dean gave a half smile, “Yeah. So—fast forward to two years later, last May. Sam was one week away from finishing his second year when we got a phone call from our dad.”  
   
Dean remembered the call like it was yesterday. As he told the story to Cas, if felt like he was transported back in time.  
   
_He was yelling at Sam because he'd left Dean's beloved Impala parked haphazardly on the curb in front of their small rental when the phone rang._  
   
_Dean had answered it, still seething. “What?” he had barked, expecting it to be Benny, his boyfriend._  
   
_It wasn't._  
   
_“Dean?”_  
   
_“Dad?”_  
   
_“Son, is your brother there?”_  
   
_“Yeah.”_  
   
_“Can you put me on speaker? I need to talk with both of you.”_  
   
_Dean called for Sam to ‘get his ass in here’ and put the call on speaker as his father had asked._  
   
_“Boys—” his father let out a strangled gasp, “you need to come home as soon as possible.”_  
   
_“What is it?” Sam inquired as Dean asked, “Is Mom alright?”_  
   
_“No, boys. She's—she's real sick again. The doctors don't have anything else they can do for her. You need to come home so you can say goodbye,” he choked out._  
   
_Without even realizing hit, Dean dropped the phone. His heart was pounding in his chest at the thought that his mother wasn’t going to make it this time. His breathing quickened, his heartbeat filling his ears, and he was numb to the outside world. He could hear his dad yelling through the tiny speakers, asking what happened and if they were alright, but what brought Dean back to himself was the sound of Sam quietly sobbing on the couch next to him. Dean closed his eyes, and began counting out his breaths._  
   
_After a few minutes, Dean was able to speak calmly. He told their father his plan: Sam would fly out in two days, giving him time to speak to his professors about alternative ways to take his finals. Dean would be there as quickly as he could, but  needed time to pack and move everything to storage._  
   
_With a single phone call to his academic advisor, Sam had the situation regarding his finals taken care of. Dean made arrangements with his boss about his final paycheck, and then with his friends so he had help packing and relocating their belongings. The last call he made was to his boyfriend._  
   
_Within 24 hours, Sam was on a flight back home to Lawrence. Within 72, Dean was driving back home with his and Sam's necessary items-the things they couldn't leave in storage._  
   
Back in the present, Dean chuckled, aiming a smile at Cas. “I made it to Lawrence in record time. Dad was pissed I'd pushed the Impala so hard.”  
   
“He was worried about a car?”  
   
Dean shrugged. “I think he was trying to focus on anything but Mom’s illness.”  
   
Cas nodded.  
   
“We spent the summer going to doctors appointments and running errands for Dad so he could stay with Mom. Sam’s teachers let him take the finals via mail and, even with everything going on, he aced them.” There was a pause as Dean gathered his thoughts. “Then summer was over and Mom was better. Sam went back to school and he moved in with a classmate. I stayed here with my parents and things were normal. . .”  
   
“So your mom is okay now?”  
   
The question hung in the air.  
   
“Dean?”  
   
“No, she died last Christmas.”  
   
Cas gasped. “I'm so sorry.”  
   
Dean shrugged. “Yeah. That's what everyone kept saying, too. ‘I'm sorry’, or ‘she was so young’, or ‘at least she isn't suffering anymore’,  and a lot of ‘she's in a better place now’.” Dean bit out the last one. “That one hurt the most. It's like they're saying we weren't good enough for her to stay with.”  
   
Cas rubbed his thumb over the top of Dean's hand. “I can imagine, but—” He stopped that line of thought when Dean narrowed his eyes at him, saying instead, “I _am_ sorry you lost your mom.”  
   
“Thanks.”  
   
Dean glanced down at their hands, noticing that Cas’s were clean, and wondered if he was just a neat freak or had recently been able to bathe. _Which is an odd thing to focus on,_ he thought.  
   
Cas pulled his hand away from Dean's and asked, “May I use the restroom?”  
   
“Of course,” Dean replied and pointed Cas in the direction of the bathrooms.  
   
While Cas used the facilities, Dean started doing the end of shift clean up: washing the glasses, putting away the alcohol he'd left on the counter, closing out the drawer and putting the money in the safe, and wiping down the counter (for the millionth time). It was several minutes before Cas came back; Dean was wiping down one of the tables in front of the bar.  
   
“Thank you for the drink,” Castiel said, stopping to stand in front of Dean.  
   
“You're welcome.”  
   
They stood, staring at each other for a brief moment.  
   
“I should go. You have work to do.”  
   
He couldn't explain it, but Dean really didn't want Cas to leave. “Maybe you could stay?” he suggested.  
   
Cas tilted his head as if debating. “I suppose I could stay and help you clean up, as payment for the drink.”   
   
Dean groaned, “Cas, the drink was so you would stay here and keep warm. There's no payment expected.”  
   
“Oh.” Cas stared at Dean. “Would you be opposed if I helped anyway?”  
   
Dean grinned and shook his head. “No, I won't turn down help.” He put his hand on Cas’ arm. “But only if you understand you don't _have_ to help.”  
   
“I do,” Cas responded.  
   
“Alright.”  
   
Between the two of them, they had clean up completed in record time.  
   
“Thanks, Cas.”  
   
“You're welcome, Dean.”  
   
Again, they stood silently, staring at each other.  
   
“I should be going,” Cas said.  
   
“Why? It's only—” He glanced at his watch. “Wow, it's after midnight.”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
Dean glanced to the bar. “How about just one drink?”  
   
Cas laughed. “I already had one drink.”  
   
“No, you had eggnog. That's not a drink. I meant a _real_ drink.”  
   
Shaking his head, Cas conceded, “If it's so important to you that we share a drink, then alright.”  
   
Dean walked towards the bar with Cas following closely behind him. He leaned over the bar and pulled out two tumblers.   
   
“What's your poison?” he asked.  
   
Cas shrugged. “I'm not sure. Usually I just drink beer.”  
   
Dean stared at him, eyes wide and mouth open. “Beer? Hell no, we’re in a jazz joint. We drink whiskey or bourbon. We're not drinking beer.”  
   
Chuckling, Cas agreed.  
   
Dean poured them each two fingers of his favorite whiskey and handed one to Cas.  
   
Cas took a large sip and immediately began to choke. “Holy hell!” he exclaimed after being able to breath again, “That is some strong stuff.”  
   
Dean laughed. “But it’s good.”  
   
“It is,” Cas acknowledged, “once you're able to get past not being able to feel your throat anymore.”  
   
“Haha,” Dean fake laughed, “you're hilarious.”  
   
“Why, thank you. I try.”  
   
Cas asked, “So, is Sam still in school?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
A moment of silence and then, “But you're still here.”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“Why?” Cas inquired.  
   
Shocked, Dean asked, “Why do you want to know?”  
   
Cas shrugged. “Because I feel there's more to the story than you've said.”  
   
“Like what?”  
   
“Well, you mentioned a boyfriend. What happened to him?”  
   
Dean thought back to what had been said during that call.  
   
_“Hey, babe,” Benny had answered cheerfully._  
   
_“Hey, Benny.”_  
   
_“Uh-oh. Did I do something wrong? Do I need to come over so you can discipline me?” Benny joked._  
   
_“Benny,” Dean started._  
   
_Hearing the sadness in Dean's voice, Benny dropped his light tone. “Honey, is everything alright?”_  
   
_“No,” Dean replied, voice cracking with restrained emotion, “My dad just called. Mom’s sick again.”_  
   
_“Do you need me to come over?”_  
   
_Dean shook his head. “No, I just. . . I needed to tell you I was heading home and wasn't sure when I'd be back.”_  
   
_There was silence on the other end. “What do you need me to do?”_  
   
_“Will. . . Can you come over tomorrow and help us pack stuff up and take it to storage?”_  
   
_“Of course. Just tell me what time.”_  
   
_“Sometime between eight and nine?” he suggested, trying to blink away the stinging in his eyes._  
   
_“Alright. I'll be there at 8:15 with coffee—lots of coffee.”_  
   
_“Thank you, Benny.”_  
   
_“You're welcome, love.” There was silence for a second, and Benny asked, “Are you sure you don't want me to come over and sit with you?”_  
   
_“No, Sam—” he swallowed down an almost sob, refusing to let himself cry, “Sam and I need to figure out what we've got to do.”_  
   
_“Alright, darlin’, but you call me if you need somethin’, alright?”_  
   
_“Alright, Benny.”_  
   
_“Take care of yourself.”_  
   
_“Okay, Benny. See you tomorrow. I love you.”_  
   
_“See you tomorrow, Dean, I—”_  
   
_The connection was broke._  
   
_Three days later, Dean was halfway through Texas when he realized Benny had never showed up._  
   
“He just left you wondering?”  
   
Dean nodded. “For about nine months.”  
   
“I hope he had a good reason.”  
   
“He didn't.”  
   
“What'd he say?”  
   
“He said that he was sorry but he was actually working up the courage to break up with me. He'd met someone else, someone younger who didn't have as much baggage as I did—who didn't have family issues like me.”  
   
“I hope you gave him hell for treating you the way he did.”  
   
Dean recounted the conversation.  
   
_It was two days before Valentine's Day. The phone in the kitchen rang. Dean’s father, John, picked up the handset to answer it. A few minutes later, Dean was being called to the phone._  
   
_“Hello?”_  
   
_“Dean?”_  
   
_“Yeah. Who's this?”_  
   
_“Benny.”_  
   
_“How did you get this number?” he hissed, immediately on edge._  
   
_“I ran into Sam a few weeks ago. . .”_  
   
_“Sam would never have given you this number,” he interrupted, “And he sure as hell would have told me if he had.” Dean's anger was met with a small silence._  
   
_“I'm sorry.”_  
   
_“How did you get this number?” Dean asked again, ignoring the man's apology._  
   
_Benny sighed. “I ran into Ash.”_  
   
Fucking Ash—probably thought I wanted an explanation from him _, Dean thought._  
   
_“Look, I don't know why you’re call—”_  
   
_“I'm sorry,” he sighed, “about your mom.”_  
   
_Dean's breath hitched, “Who—”_  
   
_“Amy told me.”_  
   
_“Fine. You're sorry. Thanks.”_  
   
_“I also felt like I owed you an explanation.”_  
   
_“Then explain.”_  
   
_Benny began, “When you called. . . I had been trying to get up the courage to come over and tell you that I'd met someone else.”_  
   
_“Are you fucking kidding me?” he barked, “_ That's _why you wanted to come over? You wanted to dump me on the day I found out my mother was dying?!”_  
   
_“I couldn't do it…  But I also couldn't lie to you anymore.”_  
   
_“_ Anymore?! _”_  
   
_“I met Aaron three months prior to that phone call-—I'd been seeing him for almost that long.”_  
   
_“I don't believe this shit!”_  
   
_“I-I wanted to tell you a week after I met him but. . .you had went to all that trouble planning that amazing Valentine’s Day dinner and I couldn't do that to you.”_  
   
_“What about later?”_  
   
_“Then you were dealing with a work issue, and then it was Sam and his girlfriend breaking up. Then you had Ash needing you, then your mom called because your grandma had a heart attack. Then your dad called because your uncle was in the hospital. Then your brother got back together with Madison and you were constantly fighting with him, because she was there all the time, so you were at my apartment all the time. And then your childhood friend Kevin called to tell you he was getting engaged. Then your aunt called about your cousin Jo. . .” He sighed. “It just never ended. You had so much family drama—”_  
   
_“So you wanted to break up because my family and friends kept in touch? Because they needed me?”_  
   
_“It wasn't just that. It was the nightmares you had that would wake you up, screaming out some man’s name and you'd never talk to me about them—or him.”_  
   
_“That's because I never remembered them!” he snapped, “I didn't even know who this ‘Gabe’ was. The only Gabe I know is the one you introduced me to at that bar.”_  
   
_“Regardless, I didn’t want to lie to you anymore. I couldn’t. And, since you said you weren’t sure when you were coming back—I figured I’d have time to decide if I really wanted to stay with Aaron, or if I should break it off with him.”_  
   
_“You’re such an asshole,” he growled into the phone._  
   
_“I know, babe. I’m sor—”_  
   
_“No, you don’t get to apologize for this._ And _you sure as hell don’t get to call me names like that anymore.”_  
   
_“I know. I just want you to understand that this is hard for me. I didn’t intend to hurt you, but. . .you hurt me, too.”_  
   
“How the fuck did I hurt you?”  
   
_“Well, you never tried to contact me. I left my number the same for six months after you left.”_  
   
_“Wait, you’re turning this around on_ me _? How the fuck can this be my fault?”_  
   
_“I waited for you to call and yo—”_  
   
_“No, you know what,_ fuck you, Benny _” he yelled, “I’m not doing this! You said your piece, now I’m saying mine: don’t you_ ever _contact me again. You wanted out of our relationship, fine. You’re out. Stay that way!” Dean punched the END button on the phone._  
   
_When he turned to hang it up, he saw his father standing there._  
   
_“So you’re gay?” John asked._  
   
_Dean nodded cautiously._  
   
_“Alright,” John said, shrugging. With that, he went back to the living room to watch the game._  
   
_Dean stood in the kitchen, staring at the space his father had just vacated. Several moments passed before he headed after him._  
   
_“Dad?”_  
   
_John looked up at his son._  
   
_“Are you alright with that?”_  
   
_“With what?”_  
   
_Dean gestured to the kitchen. “With what you just learned?”_  
   
_John glanced back to the kitchen “About you being gay?”_  
   
_Dean nodded._  
   
_“Dean,” his father began, “I don’t care who you love as long as that person loves you back. I don’t want you to wake up one morning and realize that the person you’re with doesn’t love you the way you love them. I don’t want you wasting your life waiting on the person you’re with to decide that they do love you, but not with the same amount of passion that you have for them.” John glanced to his hands in his lap then back to his son. “I don’t want you to regret your choice for who you share your life with the way I’ve seen some do. I want you to be happy, Dean. And whether that’s with a man or a woman, I don’t care.”_  
   
_“Really?”_  
   
_“Of course.” He looked at Dean. “I just want you to be happy, son. You and Sam mean the world to me.”_  
   
_Dean walked over to his father, leaned down and gave him a quick hug. “Thanks, Dad.”_

“So your dad doesn’t care?” Cas asked.  
   
“No, he just wants me happy.”  
   
“What about your mom? Would she have cared?”  
   
“I think she’d be like my dad—as long as I’m happy it wouldn’t matter.”  
   
“That must be nice.”  
   
Dean nodded. “It is. I hid my sexuality from him for over a decade. It took my mother dying and my life falling apart to find out that my dad does love me. He just doesn’t know how to say it.”  
   
Cas smiled. “At least you know your dad loves you.”  
   
The way Cas said that made Dean wonder about the Cas’s own father. But Dean would never ask. He wasn’t about to admit that he wanted to know more about the man sitting next to him.  
   
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. Dean heard his watch tick the seconds away. Cas finally asked, “You said your grandma had had a heart attack and your uncle was taken to the hospital?”    
   
Dean nodded.   
   
“What happened to them? Are they both alright?”  
   
“Yeah. My grandma is still alive. She’s got a pacemaker and was told she needed to slow down—which pissed her off, but grandpa made her listen. And my uncle Bobby, well, he’s in a wheelchair now. He was in a hunting accident and was shot in the back. They weren’t able to operate to get the bullet out so he’s always setting off metal detectors whenever we fly, not that we do often.”  
   
“And your brother and. . .was it Madison? Are they still together?”  
   
“No, remember how I told you he’d moved in with a classmate?”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
“Well, the classmate had a sister who Sam ended up hooking up with one night when they had a house party. They’re planning on getting married after they’ve both completed their degrees.”  
   
“Aww, that’s nice.”  
   
“Yep.” Dean glanced at his watch. “Wow, it’s almost 2 am.”  
   
“I should let you go. Surely you have things you need to do.”  
   
“This late? What am I going to do at two o’clock in the morning? On _Christmas_ morning no less?” Dean waited for Cas to say something, when he didn’t, Dean admitted, “But we should definitely leave here.” He picked up their glasses and bottle, heading to the sink to wash their tumblers.  
   
“Good night, Dean.”  
   
“Wait?” Dean plopped the bottle in it’s place on the shelf, “What do you mean ‘ _goodnight_ ’?”  
   
“You said we should leave. . .”  
   
“Yeah.” Dean began to wash the tumblers they used. “We should leave here, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still keep talking.”  
   
“Where are we going to go?”  
   
“There’s a coffee shop across the street. We can—”  
   
“I’m not allowed in there anymore.”  
   
Dean blinked in surprise. “What? _Why_?”  
   
“Because people don’t like it when you sit at their tables and don’t purchase anything.”  
   
“That’s dumb.”  
   
Cas smiled at the irritation in Dean’s voice.  
   
“What about the grocery store down the block?”  
   
“They won’t be open this late.”  
   
“That’s right,” Dean agreed.  
   
“You really don’t have anything you need to do?” Cas asked.  
   
“Not a damn thing.”  
   
“Then if you can come up with a place for us to go, I’d enjoy talking with you some more.”  
   
Dean’s brow furrowed as he tried to come up with a place for them to go ‘hang out’ that would still be open this late. After drying the tumblers and replacing them on the shelf, he turned to face Cas, grinning as a thought struck him.  
   
Cas smiled in response. “Did you think of somewhere?”  
   
“I did,” Dean said, frowning as he reconsidered,, “though I don’t know how comfortable you’d be.”  
   
“Where is it?”  
   
“My apartment.”  
   
Cas jerked back from him, eye wide.  
   
Dean sent him an apologetic smile. “I know, but it’s not that far from here…”  
   
“Dean,” Cas began, “are you sure you want me in your apartment?”  
   
“Why wouldn’t I?”  
   
“Because, I’m. . .” Cas gestured to himself.  
   
“Cas, I decide who comes to my home, and I’m inviting you. If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I understand that you may not be comfortable going to a strange man’s home.” Dean frowned, adding, “But you _will_ be warm.” Seeing Cas’s still present hesitation, he tempted, “You can even stay the night and sleep knowing you’ll be out of the cold. I’ll even cook you breakfast in the morning.”  
   
“Dean. . . You don’t know me. I could be a serial killer,or a rapist, or a number of other things.”  
   
Dean walked around the bar to stand in front of Cas, and stared into the man's face. “Are you any of those things?”  
   
“No,” he answered.  
   
“Then come over.”  
   
Cas gave a brief smile. “Well, how do I know _you’re_ not any of those things?”  
   
“Do you think I might be?”  
   
He stood contemplating the question for a moment. “No, I don’t.”  
   
Dean reached for Cas’s hand and pulled him towards the exit. “Then c’mon.”  
   
Cas followed Dean to his car, all the while smiling wide.  
   
At the sight of the 1967 Chevy Impala, Cas let out a low whistle. Taking in the metallic black and the silver chrome of the vehicle, Cas exclaimed, “Whoa! This is a beautiful car.”  
   
The compliment had Dean smiling so big that his cheeks hurt. “Thanks.”  
   
“May I?” Cas asked as he placed his hand over the car's hood.  
   
“Yes,” Dean answered, “and thank you for asking. You wouldn't believe how often I have to wash grubby hand prints off Baby.”  
   
“‘Baby’?”  
   
“Yeah,” Dean trailed a hand along the car’s side, “‘Baby’.”  
   
“Ok, then.” Cas stroked the hood. “Nice to meet you, Baby.”  
   
Dean chuckled as he got in the car. He waited until Cas got in before saying, “You're as odd as I am, aren't you?”  
   
“I prefer the term ‘unique’ but yes.”  
   
Dean laughed wholeheartedly. “Oh, man. That's good. I'm using that one from now on.”  
   
True to Dean's word, they men arrived at the apartment in short order. Parking the car, Dean then led the way to his apartment.  
   
Cas stood at the door, waiting for Dean to unlock it. Dean pretended not to notice the bright holiday decorations around his neighbor’s doors. There were bright lights, ribbons, a few wreaths, and even a handmade sign written in childlike scrawl proclaiming, “We’re here, Santa! Please don’t forget us!” Dean’s door had none of that. He hadn’t put anything up, not even a wreath. He silently hoped Cas didn’t ask about it. He hadn’t bothered with festive decor since his mother had gone. It reminded him too much of her passing.  
   
The lock clicked, and Dean pushed the door open, stepping aside for Cas to follow him through. “This is it,” Dean announced, waving his hand through the air.  
   
Castiel stepped inside, and Dean waited while he took in his surroundings. The apartment was small, painted in neutral colors Sam had picked out— _“This one is beige, Dean, and this is taupe. No, they’re not the same!”_ —with a well worn sofa and what was probably an obnoxiously large flatscreen TV. Dean was admittedly a bit of a cinema geek. There was a kitchen with wooden cabinets and a tiny dining room off to the side, and deeper in the bedrooms and bathrooms. The most notable thing in the whole place were the family pictures scattered _everywhere_ —walls, side tables, the mantle above an unusable fireplace—and Dean noted with mild amusement how Cas’s eyes kept flitting to the photos. Cas was trying to be subtle about his curiosity, but it was written all over his face.  
   
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Dean said, grinning.  
   
“It’s nice. Simple, but nice,” Cas commented.  
   
“Thanks.” There was silence for a moment. “The door at the front of the hall,”—Dean pointed to the door he was speaking of—“is the spare bedroom. There’s a small second bathroom as well.”  
   
Cas glanced down the hall, nodding.  
   
“I’m going to go change,” Dean said as he started down the hall, stopping just before the first door, tossing an afterthought over his shoulder, “I’ll grab something you can change into, too.”  
   
“Thank you, Dean.”  
   
Dean dipped into his bedroom, changing quickly out of his work clothes and into something more comfortable. When he emerged, padding silently down the hall, he found himself slowing to a stop in the doorway. His eyes were on Cas, who had his back turned to Dean, while he looked at the framed pictures on the mantle. He picked them up one at a time. Dean himself had stared at them often enough that he knew exactly which ones Cas was looking at.   
   
First, it was the candid photo Sam had taken of Dean, a burger halfway to his mouth and the backdrop of some random diner behind him. The second was of him and Sam laughing, clinging to each other’s shoulders to stay upright, back when Sam was still shorter than Dean. The next was a picture of the brothers with their mom in front of the family home, all of them waving at the camera except Dean himself, who was looking off slightly to side. Then Cas moved to look at the one—Dean grinned, imagining it in his mind’s eye—from Sam’s graduation day. He and Sam were dorkily shaking hands at John’s insistence, Sam towering over Dean at that point, and Mary was off to the side, eyes trained on Sam’s face.   
   
When Cas picked up the last photo, Dean cringed. He, Sam, and their father were standing in front of a joyfully decorated Christmas tree, but their expressions didn’t match the scene. Sam’s eyes were red, a little puffy around the rims, from crying not moments before. John’s brow was furrowed, his face molded in anger, but his eyes were that of a broken man. Dean was in the center staring straight ahead, eyes sad and face blank.  
   
Dean spoke up, announcing his presence, “My mom demanded that we get portraits done for Christmas that year.”  
   
Cas turned to face Dean as he spoke, eyebrows raised in a silent question.   
   
“She was too sick to go, though.” Dean pointed to the photo that Cas had been viewing “That was the morning we were told she had less than a month to live. . . She was gone before we even got them back.”  
   
Cas set the photo down with a kind of reverence that surprised Dean. “I’m so sorry, Dean.”  
   
“Shit happens, right?” Dean shrugged. “Anyway, here.” He thrust out some clothing to Cas. “I’m pretty sure these will fit you,”  
   
Cas thanked him as he accepted the loaned clothes.  
   
“Go ahead and go get changed,” Dean gestured to the guest bedroom, “and if you want to take a shower, that’s fine too. There are towels in the bedroom closet.” He gave Cas a smile. “Not that I’m saying I think you need to. I just thought you may want one.”  
   
“Thank you, Dean. A shower would be great. I’ll take a short one though.”  
   
Dean shook his head, waving a hand. “Nah, you take as long as you need.”  
   
“Are you going to bed?”  
   
“No, I’m going to watch TV.” He smiled. “So don’t worry about taking a little time.”  
   
Cas nodded and headed to the bedroom.  
   
Twenty minutes later, Cas was sitting on the sofa watching a documentary about Atlantis with Dean.   
   
When it was over, Dean turned to Cas inquisitively, “Do you think Atlantis exists?”  
   
Cas nodded. “I do. I think if we were able to look in the location that we refer to as the Bermuda Triangle and not worry about disappearing, we would find it.”  
   
“So you believe in the unknown and myths and shit?”  
   
“Of course,” Cas said, gesturing at the screen, “Don’t you?”  
   
“Well, yeah. . .” He looked away from Cas. “But Sammy always made fun of me for it.”  
   
Cas nodded in understanding. “As did my brothers with me.”  
   
“Really?”  
   
“Yes. There was one instance where I told my eldest brother that I believe ghosts are real. He asked if I had any proof. I told him if he’d take me to the old mansion on the other side of town that we’d find some. Michael laughed, saying there was no way he was wasting his Friday night babysitting a ten year old at some condemned dirthole when he could be out with his girlfriend ‘getting lucky’.” Cas smiled at the memory. “It was too bad he didn’t take me. He wound up impregnating his girlfriend that night. Our dad was livid when he found out. Michael was practically grounded until the day he moved out.” Cas smirked. “He was sixteen and lived there until he was almost twentyfive.”  
   
Dean laughed. “So your older brother was grounded for almost four years?”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
The two of them chuckled and continued trading stories. Several hours later, Cas yawned Dean looked at his watch, making them both aware of just how much time had passed without their noticing.  
   
“It’s almost 6 am,” Dean said, “we should probably get some sleep, at least a couple hours.”  
   
Cas agreed and they headed down the hall together, parting ways at their respective doors. Cas gave Dean one last soft smile, and Dean’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of it. He smiled tentatively back, and then stepped into his room, pressing the door gently shut behind him.  .  
   
* * *  
   
Cas jolted awake to the sound of clattering and someone yelping. He sat up, momentarily confused as to his surroundings, before remembering the previous night. He glanced at the digital alarm clock on the bedside table, reading 10:47 am.  
   
Worried about the cacophony of noise and muffled cursing, he slid out of bed and made his way into the kitchen.  
   
“Sorry,” Dean said, noticing his presence immediately.  
   
Cas took in the scene. A carton of eggs lay smashed on the floor, orange juice ran across the counter,dripping to the tile below, and a tub of butter was upended, the lid having skittered to the other side of the kitchen completely.  
   
Cas scrunched his brow and squinted in concern. “What happened?”  
   
“I stubbed my toe on the fridge, stumbled,  and dropped everything.”  
   
Cas stared at Dean for a moment, blinking, and then burst into laughter.  
   
“S’not funny, Cas.”  
   
“It’s kind of funny,” he said, still chuckling and placing a hand to his stomach.  
   
Dean narrowed his eyes at the man and repeated, “S’not.”  
   
Cas’s laughter slowly faded,  and he knelt down to pick up the butter before crossing to the other side to fetch the lid. After closing the butter, he grabbed some paper towels, wetting them in the sink, and went back to the scene of the accident. Cas let out another soft chuckle as he stooped down to begin wiping the eggs off the floor.  
   
“Cas, you don’t have to. . .”  
   
“I know, Dean, but you’re wearing half of breakfast. You should go shower.” Cas gestured to the mess, offering, “I’ll clean this up.”  
   
“Cas—” Dean started again.  
   
“C’mon, Dean. Let me do this for you.”  
   
Dean stood, debating for a few seconds, before finally relenting to Cas’ suggestion. “Alright, but don’t you _dare_ try making us breakfast. I’ll do that once I’m out of the shower.”  
   
Cas snorted, amused. “Alright, Dean. I’ll wait for you.”  
   
Dean firmly nodded his head. “Damn right you will,” he said under his breath, heading towards his bedroom.  
   
Less than fifteen minutes later, Cas had the kitchen cleaned. He was sitting at the dining room table, patiently waiting for Dean to finish with his shower, when the phone began ringing.  
   
“Cas, would you mind answering that?” Dean called from the bathroom.  
   
“Okay,” Cas replied, heading across the living room to the end table. Picking up the phone, he answered, “Dean Winchester’s residence.”  
   
Cas was met with silence.  
   
He tried again. “Hello?”  
   
“Hello? Um, is Dean there?”  
   
“He’s currently indisposed. May I take a message?”  
   
“Who the hell are you?” the voice on the end of the line demanded.  
   
“My name is Cas.”  
   
“Where the hell is my brother?”  
   
“Ah, you must be Sam. Dean’s told me a lot about you.”  
   
“What the—,” Sam sputtered, “Let me talk to my brother!”  
   
“I would, but he’s currently in the shower. He made a rather large mess of himself this morning trying to—”  
   
“I don’t think I want to hear this.”  
   
Cas tilted his head. “...alright.”  
   
They were both silent for a few minutes, then Sam asked, “Did he just get in the shower?”  
   
“I believe he’s out. He heard the phone ring and yelled for me to answer it,” Cas supplied, “And, since the volume of the ringer isn’t that high, I imagine the only way he would have heard it was if the water was off.” Cas heard a soft “what the hell”, and decided he should keep talking. “I heard you’re on scholarship at Stanford. Congratulations. Dean is very proud of you.”  
   
“Uh. . . Thanks?” Sam said, sounding uncertain.  
   
“You’re welcome,” Cas responded, smiling. “And congratulations on your almost engagement to Jessica.” He glanced down the hall to see Dean coming. “Oh, here’s your brother.”  
   
Cas handed the phone to Dean, who gave him a questioning look as he accepted it. Cas shrugged and stalked back to sit at the dining room table until Dean finished the conversation.  
   
Dean placed the receiver up to his ear and said jovially, “Merry Christmas, Sammy!”  
   
Instead of repeating Dean’s words, Sam had a whole slew of other ones for his older brother, said loudly enough that Cas could hear his tinny voice coming through loud and clear over the small speaker.  
   
“Who the hell is that? Why is he answering your phone? Why on earth did you tell him about me? Did you tell him _everything_ about me? Because he knew about Stanford and my scholarship, and _Jess_ , too!”  
   
Dean answered each of Sam’s question’s. He left answering “who the hell is that” for last. “That was Castiel.”  
   
“Castiel?” Sam repeated. “That one homeless guy from around town you’ve mentioned a couple of times? Dean, why is he in your _apartment_?”  
   
Dean sighed and relayed some of the story to his brother. Cas could feel Dean’s eyes on his face, felt his own expressions changing as the story went on, from boredom to sadness to excitement, and his own fondness for Dean was probably showing too, even though he tried to hide it.  
   
By the time Dean was finished, he had Sam on speaker phone, so Cas heard him ask, “So, you asked him to come spend Christmas with you because I wasn’t there?”  
   
Dean shook his head. “No, Sam. I asked him to come spend Christmas with me because he’s a nice guy and I thought I could do something nice for _him_.” He smiled at Cas from the living room. “Besides, I like him.”  
   
“Dean. . .,” his brother said, a bit frantically, “Dean, what in the hell do you mean, ‘ _you like him_ ’?”  
   
“I mean he’s a good man and I’m going to help him get back on his feet,” Dean declared loudly, staring at Cas to make sure he understood his intentions.  
   
“Dean, you can’t take him in.”  
   
“I sure as hell can, Sammy.”  
   
“He’s not a project for you to fix,” his brother worried, “He’s a man with real emotions and real problems.”  
   
Dean let out a sigh of exasperation. “Sammy, I’m not asking for your approval. I don’t need it.”  
   
“You don’t even know the guy! He could be an ax murderer!”  
   
“He’s not, Sam. I know more about this man in twelve hours than I knew about Benny after a year.” He gripped the phone tighter, “If you don’t agree with my decision, that’s fine, but I want your support.”  
   
“Fine, Dean,” Sam relented, sighing heavily, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  
   
“Alright, I won’t.”  
   
“Call me if he steals all your cash, or, y’know, kills you,” Sam snarked in his snooty lawyer voice, and then promptly hung up.   
   
Dean was still standing with the phone up to his ear a full moment later, blinking at the wall, seemingly gathering his thoughts. Dean placed the receiver back in the cradle, then crossed to the dining room table where Cas still sat, watching him.  
   
“Cas,” Dean gently said.  
   
“Yes, Dean?”  
   
“Did you hear what I told my brother?”  
   
“I did.”  
   
Dean ducked his head to lock eyes with the man. “Are you okay with staying here? With me helping you get on your feet?”  
   
Cas didn’t move; he stared, unseeing, at Dean.  
   
“Cas?” the other man tried again.  
   
Giving a small nod of his head, Cas answered with a soft, “Yes.”  
   
“Yes?”  
   
“ _Yes_ , Dean. I will accept your help, but only if you allow me to do something for _you_.”  
   
Dean’s lips curled into a smile. “What’s that?”  
   
“I’m making breakfast, because you clearly can’t handle cooking this morning.”  
   
Laughing, Dean agreed, “Alright, but I’m going to at least help.”  
   
Cas’s smile widened in amusement and, honestly, a warm feeling in his chest that he bafflingly recognized as affection for this man, but he supposed—“That’s fine.” Because it _was_ fine, to feel fondness for Dean, he decided.  
   
The two of them moved easily around the smallish kitchen together, preparing breakfast. About a fifteen minutes later, they each had a plate full of eggs, toast, and bacon with a large glass of orange juice. Sitting at the table, they dug in, enjoying their food too much for conversation. Cas couldn’t remember the last time he had eggs _this_ good.  
   
Once they were done, Cas picked up his and Dean’s plates, taking them to the kitchen sink.Cas started the sink, and together, they washed the dishes, Cas scrubbing and Dean drying. When their chore was complete, they somehow ended up on the sofa, curled up on opposite ends under warm blankets watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_.  
   
When the movie ended, Cas requested _Miracle on 34th Street_ , as that had been a favorite of his to watch as a child. Dean smiled softly, and agreed. About halfway through it, Dean stretched out on the couch, placing his feet in Cas’ lap. Cas turned to face Dean, eyebrows raised in question. Dean just shrugged his shoulders and got more comfortable, leaving Cas to chuckle. They spent hours watching more and more feel-good Christmas flicks.  
   
Some ways into the late afternoon, Dean’s phone rang again. Groaning, he got up from the couch and over to the end table on Cas’s side to answer it.  
   
“Merry Christmas,” Cas heard a voice say, close enough to Dean now that he could easily hear without the speaker function turned on. He briefly wondered about Dean’s hearing, and if it was perhaps a little bad, as he had the volume up so high on his phone. Perhaps Dean listened to a lot of loud music?.  
   
Dean smirked, rolling his eyes in an amused manner, “Merry Christmas, Dad.”  
   
“I just got off the phone with Sam. . .” John trailed off.  
   
“Let me guess: he told you about my decision?”  
   
“He did.”  
   
Dean didn’t reply, choosing to wait his father out.  
   
John huffed. “That’s not why I’m calling, son.”  
   
Expression puzzled, Dean asked, “It’s not?”  
   
“No. I just wanted to remind you that if you’re happy, that’s all that matters to me.”  
   
Dean’s lips twisted upwards and he looked down at his socked feet, shuffling them together, cheeks a little pink with a blush. “Thanks, dad.”  
   
“You’re welcome.” John blew out a breath. “Now, is he still there?”  
   
“Yeah,” Dean answered, glancing back at Cas.  
   
“Alright, son. Then I’m going to let you go. I’ll talk to you again soon, ok?”  
   
“Okay, dad.”  
   
Dean replaced the phone in it’s cradle and stared at it, trying to understand what that was about. He looked up from the phone to find Cas standing in front of him.  
   
He blinked at Cas in surprise. “I didn’t even see you move—”  
   
Dean’s comment was cut off when Cas rushed forward, crushing their lips together. Startled, it took Dean a second to react. Placing his hands on Cas’ hips, Dean pulled the other man closer, humming in obvious delight. Cas parted his lips and licked at Dean’s mouth, urging Dean to open up to him. When Dean did, Cas’s tongue dived in, his own excitement building, but—.   
   
Cas abruptly pulled back.  
   
“Why did you do that?” Dean asked, opening his eyes slowly, looking a little dazed.  
   
Cas pointed upward. Hanging above their heads was a sprig of mistletoe.  
   
“Where did that come from?’ Dean wondered, brow furrowed in bafflement.  
   
“I don’t know,” Cas answered, “I don’t think it was there earlier though.”  
   
Dean stepped back from Cas. “Are you saying that it just _magically_ appeared there?”  
   
Cas shrugged. “All I know is it wasn’t there last night, and it wasn’t there this morning, either.”  
   
“It shouldn’t be there at all,” Dean whispered, “I don’t decorate for Christmas, and even if I did, mistletoe is not something I would use.”  
   
“Well, it’s there now.”  
   
The two of them continued to stare at the ceiling.  
   
“Are you going to take it down?” Cas asked.  
   
Dean shook his head. “Nah. I may not know how it got there, but it caused you to kiss me. I’m okay with it staying.”  
   
Cas smiled and threaded his fingers through Dean’s. The other man led them the few feet back to the couch, where they settled back down, this time cuddled up together, to rewatch _It’s a Wonderful Life_.  
   
* * *  
   
_Somewhere in Heaven at that exact moment, a celestial being smiled down at the scene unfolding between Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak._  
   
_The being huffed a laugh, “Dean was right. Sort of.”_  
   
_A friendly spirit watched too. “About what?”_  
   
_“Being on the couch watching_ It’s a Wonderful Life _for Christmas this year. He’s just not alone.”_  
   
_“Oh,” the spirit said, adding almost as an afterthought, “So, how did you know?”_  
   
_“How did I know what?”_  
   
_“That the mistletoe is what was needed to start their relationship?”_  
   
_“I know Dean. Without Castiel ambushing him with a kiss like that, Dean would never have admitted he was in love with a man he barely even knows.”_  
   
_“And how can you be sure?”_  
   
_Mary smiled. “Because I know my son.”_

**Author's Note:**

> This was not supposed to turn out this way-it was supposed to be shorter, but these guys wanted to go some place specific and I was just along for the ride. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed this. Please let me know if you'd like to see more of these guys again in the future. Happy Holidays to you and yours! See y'all next year!


End file.
